


Out to Drift

by BoMarlowe



Series: Little Motels [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Domestic Fluff, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parenthood, Pregnancy, Romantic Fluff, Substance Abuse, Surrogacy, Time Skips, time stamps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-02-18 12:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2347847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoMarlowe/pseuds/BoMarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time stamps in the world of Little Motels. </p><p>Please read the first part of this series, otherwise these won't make sense :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set approximately a year after the final chapter of Little Motels.
> 
> Unedited, but will be edited soon.

“No,” Dean spits, repulsed by what he’s hearing, “nuh-uh.”

Bobby leans back in his chair, fingers scratching over his chest as he shakes his head. “Sorry, son. Just thought you’d wanna know.”

Dean paces; a difficult task in a small room, made possible by his determination to be pissed off. He’s tempted to reach into the front of his pants to check that both balls are still intact - he’s been kicked below the belt so many times at this point, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if his hand came back out both bloody and empty.

“Of course, Bobby,” Dean replies, thick with sarcasm, “who doesn’t wake up in the morning hoping for terrible news?”

His bitching is met with an exaggerated eye roll. “S’not so bad, kid. Stop looking at everything like that.”

Dean halts, his boots digging into the low, worn-down carpet. “Like what?”

“Like everything revolves around _you_ , idgit. Deflate that melon of yours before someone else does it for you.”

Knuckles white, Dean folds his arms across his chest and huffs, feeling every bit the self-centered child Bobby’s accusing him of being. It doesn’t stop his stomach from broiling at the thought, doesn’t temper his heart from pulsing venomous disbelief through his veins. Dean had thought the days of hating John were over, had tucked all that shit away in the closet where dirty secrets belong. Amazing how his father can betray him from the grave, how fresh the lashings of bad parenting still feel across his skin.

“Who else does this effect? Give me a break – shit like this always lands on my shoulders and everyone else is fine watching me carry the load,” Dean argues, firmly avoiding Bobby’s gaze, “even you.”

Bobby clears his throat and props his feet up on the desk, crossing them at the ankles. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Okay. You’re wrong.”

Dean’s skin bristles as he turns and meets Bobby’s eyes, resisting the urge to bite through the soft inside of his cheek. There’s enough scar tissue inside his mouth as it is. “So you’re saying you _didn’t_ dump Sam on my porch, _again_ , when you decided you had enough? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’m still the only one doing anything to keep him off the streets.”

“This ain’t about Sam, son, but it effects Sam as much as it does you. Bet Castiel would like to know he’s got another brother-in-law,” Bobby points out, lifting a single eyebrow, “plus it effects that boy and his life, right? Never got to meet his daddy, now he’s got an asshole and an addict for brothers.”

An asshole and an addict. Yeah, that about sums up the Winchester brothers at this point.

“John was not his _daddy_ , and Adam is _not_ my brother. Christ, Bobby. Kid’s better off ripping up that stupid piece of paper and going anywhere but here,” he breathes, trying to get his anger under control, “what the fuck does he want, anyway? Money? Pictures? A fucking keepsake? Dad didn’t have anything like that. Died with the only thing he cared about in his hand. Adam’s not getting shit from me, either.”

Dean waits for Bobby to respond, but the only sound coming from him is the barely audible slide of tongue across teeth. Bobby’s just staring, just waiting for the sands of time to blow past them unmarked. If he wasn’t so driven to keep his promise to Cas, Dean’s fist would be kissing the studs behind the drywall.

“What?” he snaps, impatient. Dean’s got a lot of shit to do today and he didn’t pencil in time for this unwanted conversation.

“You,” Bobby replies, dryly. “Thought you were better these days, boy. Thought all this self-centered melodrama was behind you.”

“Self-centered melodrama,” Dean echoes, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not allowed to be upset when I hear upsetting news?”

“You can feel whatever the hell you want, just knock off the theatrics. I doubt Adam wants anything from you boys, except maybe get to know ya. Not like you ever spend time with him, Dean. Kid’s an orphan too, you know.”

It’s only with a deep, centering breath that Dean doesn’t explode right then and there.  “In case you haven’t noticed, he’s not exactly supportive of my _lifestyle choice_ ,” he says, quoting the air, “he made that pretty clear.”

“So he made a stupid comment once, what, nearly two years ago? Get over it.”

There’s a moment of silence while Dean mulls it over in his mind, scratching at the soft tissue of his brain for a reason – any reason – to keep up the argument. He could probably go on for days about his lack of time to deal with this, about why he shouldn’t have to embrace the idea of being a Winchester trio instead of a duo, but the longer he carries on his little tirade, the more he realizes what a waste of effort and energy it really is.

He’s not mad at Adam, not really. The kid can’t control who his parents are any more than Dean can, probably wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being related to them either. If Dean is being perfectly honest with himself, a virtue he’s learned to practice more than preach in recent months, then the truth is that he’s far more pissed with John than anyone else.

Dean tries to imagine one of their pit stops through Lawrence in a different light; John sneaking away while his boys throw marshmallows at the Harvelle girls, a Mary look-a-like on his arm, letting the evening carry him to distant yet familiar places without regard for the consequences.

He wonders if John knew, if he ever wished Adam could be his second chance at fatherhood.

Doesn’t matter, Dean decides. It shouldn’t be a surprise that assholes can still be assholes after death.

“Okay,” Dean starts, a bit dully from being defeated, “so what would you do, if you were in my shoes?”

Bobby shrugs. “I’d have him over for a beer, probably. Make awkward small talk ‘til it feels more natural. Sam’ll want to see him too, I think. Why not make an evening of it? Everyone likes a barbeque.”

He says it so convincingly that Dean almost believes he could have both brothers in his home without any major repercussions.

Having Adam over wouldn’t be too bad, though. They could invite Charlie and Gilda, Adam could bring Jo, and having Bobby show up with Jody would mean free mediation if the evening stalled like a sputtering motor. Cas has been needling for an excuse to entertain, anyway.

But Dean has no illusions about Sam. He’s pretty sure Cas still wouldn’t be comfortable with it, wouldn’t be ready to face him after what happened.

“Will you come?” Dean asks, feeling like a child afraid to walk out to the center stage.

Bobby shifts in his seat, taking a deep breath. “Not the best idea, son. Jody’s still…” he trails off, searching for the right word, but whatever word Bobby comes up with won't matter. Dean already knows exactly what he’s trying to say.

“Yeah,” Dean says, bitterly. “Sam has that affect.”  

҉     ҉     ҉ 

“ _If you are a dreamer, come in,_ ” Cas recites, eyes moon-wide and glowing, “what do you think?”

Dean stands in the doorway, arms folded, watching the sun glint off the silver around Cas’ finger. Cas is dressed in ratty clothes, barefoot and sweat-damp from the summer heat breezing in through the open window. Dean takes a moment to appreciate the view, and he knows that before him is one of those scenes he’ll remember when he’s old and gray; one of those memories that comes back in softer tones and rounded edges, that will flit across his view from time to time when he’s feeling nostalgic.

The nursery is nearly complete, all thanks to Cas. He’s painting the walls now, despite having already painted them several times. First was a pastel blue, followed by green and then a pale buttercup. Dean liked the yellow, actually, but Cas read an article online that insisted babies with yellow walls cried more, and it wasn’t something he was willing to overlook. Now the walls are a creamy coffee color, lined with bright white molding that match the crib.

“I don’t get it,” Dean admits, smiling, “but if you like it, sure.”

Cas pouts, the little lines between his brows scrunching together. “It’s Shel Silverstein.”

Ignoring the frown on Cas’ face, Dean steps into the room and plants a kiss on the corner of his husband’s mouth. “No idea who that is.”

“You’re kidding,” Cas intones, threading a finger through one of Dean’s belt loops. “He was a prolific American author.”

“Cool,” Dean says, a little dismissive. He adores Cas’ enthusiasm, but he’s still a little tender from his conversation with Bobby earlier. Despite his interest in building furniture, he’s not much of an interior decorator; he can’t tell the difference between salmon and coral, doesn’t think it matters what color the nursery is or what fancy script Cas wants to paint above the baby’s crib.

Cas scowls. “You don’t care, do you?”

“I care,” Dean counters, tugging Cas closer until they’re chest to chest, “I just think it’s a little early, you know? Baby’s not due for a few more months, babe. You’ve got time.”

“Time,” Cas echoes, eyes wandering around the room, “is as fleeting and unpredictable as you are.”

Lips brushing over Cas’ freshly shaven face, Dean chuckles, “I’ll take that as a compliment,” then plants a kiss where the aftershave smells the strongest. He can feel Cas smile beneath his lips, warm and sweet as he leans in closer and pulls Cas into a tight hug.

With a languid sigh, Dean rests his head on Cas’ shoulder and lets the world melt away for the briefest of moments, lulled by the hum of cars and rustling wind outside the window. He wishes he were more like Cas sometimes, wishes he could allow himself to be excited without worry about the baby and the looming deadline creeping steadily closer, but fear has always been the anchor tied around Dean’s ankles; the black, snaking tendrils that root him to the ground and keep him within their mercy.

A soft hand glides leisurely down over Dean’s spine, a familiar comfort that settles him and slows his erratic heart. “What’s wrong?” Cas mumbles, his mouth muffled slightly by the cotton of Dean’s shirt.

Dean debates with himself, weighing the potential pros and cons of fessing up and telling Cas about his conversation with Bobby, or he could redirect and let today be the good day it was supposed to be. He could tell Cas later, late at night when they’re both pacified by the need to sleep, surrounded by soft pillows to bear the blow of the words – but if Cas is already asking what’s wrong, then there’s no point in hiding. He’s always had that ability to sense when Dean is struggling with something, and postponing the conversation would only make him worry longer.

Maybe it’s not that bad, anyway. Cas usually has a way of handling unwanted news far better than Dean ever could.

“Is this about your lunch with Bobby?” Cas asks, his tone worried, almost reluctant. Dean nods, leaving a final kiss on the heated skin against his lips before loosening his hold and stepping back.

“Yeah…” Dean starts, nervously scratching through his hair, “Look, uh – Sam’s homeless again, and Jody refuses to have him there. He might need a place to stay for a few days before the center has room for him, and he doesn’t really have anywhere else to go…” he trails off, hoping Cas will understand the question before it’s been asked. Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, and Cas would have to be brain-dead not to recognize a question he’s been asked several times before, but Dean’s silence is mirrored by a pointed pause.

Rejection, steadfast and cold. They’ve been through this so many times that the conversation no longer needs words, just green eyes pleading and blue eyes flashing with fear and unwanted memories.

“It’s just for a couple days,” Dean repeats, fervent. The thought of Sammy sleeping on the streets, cold or hungry and in danger, repulses every fiber of his being. It goes against his nature so drastically that he’d sooner light himself on fire, that if he were living with anyone other than Cas, it wouldn’t even be a question.

Cas wipes a hand over his face. “He’s your brother, I get that, but…you’d really put me through that again?”

“Never,” Dean insists, “Christ, babe, I’d fucking kill him. He won’t.”

“You’d kill him, but you won’t make him deal with the consequences of his actions? We’ve talked about this, Dean.”

That hollow, Sam-shaped space hidden in Dean’s core aches; yeah, they’ve talked about it, so much that his tongue throbs from sense-memory alone. He figures he’s like an old dog in that sense: can’t be taught new tricks, can’t change the ways within him set so firmly in stone. Doesn’t matter that he knows Cas is right, or that potentially putting Cas in harm’s way should mean so much more to him than putting a roof over his brother’s head.

In the end, it does; always will. Doesn’t stop him from pouting in his defeat, from shaking his head in utter disbelief of the last few years of his life.

“I’m sorry,” Cas breathes, good mood conquered by the weight of Dean’s request.

“Nah, don’t be,” Dean smiles, even though the motion feels a bit unnatural, “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m just – ugh, today’s been a lot to process.”

When Cas tilts his head at that, the sun beaming in through the window blinks away, clouded by the steadily growing storm outside. His eyes shine anyway, curiosity masking the hurt. “Has it?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, then, “Adam’s my brother.”

There’s an awkward moment between them as Dean lets the statement saturate the air, as he watches the way Cas’ eyes narrow and his lips pull into a straight line. Dean’s not sure what to expect; his husband has the kind of poker face that could win them millions if put to the right use, and Dean’s made it his personal mission to decipher the lack of expression, but even after all this time he’s no better at reading that face than he is reading Cas’ mind.

“Hmm,” is all the response Dean gets – a noncommittal hum, a noise of boredom more than interest – and it does nothing to sooth the anger he’s felt over it since his own discovery. “Are you sure?”

“Unfortunately. Guess Kate had a test done a while ago, like, way back when we were still kids. She was just waiting for Adam to ask who his father was.”

Cas steps forward, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t pull away from the touch, even though most of the muscles in his body itch to run, to jerk away and hide. “This is good news,” Cas says, but Dean can’t find it in himself to agree.

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

Dean sighs, seceding the issue. He’d argue the point if he hadn’t already done so today with Bobby, if he could come up with a better excuse for why it pisses him off so much. And really, it’s much too hard to be upset when they’re standing in the baby’s room, surrounded by calming neutrals and stuffed animals, white curtains and lace-trimmed bedding.

“Maybe we could get some drinks with him soon, or have him over for dinner. Bobby seemed to think a barbeque would be a good idea.”

Cas’ tentative smile turns genuine. “Absolutely. Family is a good thing, Dean.”

“Unless it’s Sam, right?” Dean growls, regretting the words the moment they’re out of his mouth. He hates when he’s like this, defensive and heartbroken over the little brother he failed so deeply and completely.

Cas shakes his head, “No, even Sam. He’s beloved, and a great guy when he’s sober. The boundaries aren’t meant to alienate him, Dean, but I need to feel safe. You know that.”

Yes, he does. He wants Cas to feel safe too, to actually _be_ safe, but the part of him that loves his brother will always be there, will always dig into his ribs when the loss swells and reminds him of what he doesn’t get to have.

Then Cas is kissing him, just soft little pecks on the lips that are more chaste than anything else. “Don’t be sad, baby. We’ve been waiting for today for months.”

“I know.”

“Then stop pouting and get changed,” Cas commands, still punctuating his words with kisses that get longer and deeper with each one. “I’m ready to see our baby.”

҉     ҉     ҉ 

If it weren’t for the fact that Charlie’s carrying their unborn child, Dean would be laughing his ass off at her right now.

She comes out of her apartment in a labored waddle, half-scowling and wincing with every step. Her belly is tight and round, not unlike the rest of her filled out features that glow and magnify her beauty in the cheesiest ways possible. Dean loves looking at her, as strange as that might sound, but he’s not ashamed of it in the slightest. Seeing Charlie like this makes his heart swell and stutter in his chest, makes him want to pull her into his bed and just hold her for hours while he maps out the expanse of her belly with his fingertips.

He’d expressed that sentiment to Cas not more than a few weeks ago, and his confession had been met with a jealous glare and almost a few tears.

_It’s not about her_ , he tried to explain, feeling embarrassed. It’s about the overwhelming notion that his best friend is carrying his child, about the incredible excitement he has to one day get to hold the baby in his arms. He didn’t realize how hard it would be not to have Charlie or the baby within immediate reach at all times, didn’t know how badly he’d feel the need to protect her and the future she carries in her womb.

But when that little bundle is born, he’ll take it home with Cas, snuggle them both into oblivion and never let either of them go again.

“I hate you,” Charlie intones, getting into the back of the Impala. She puts the seatbelt on with a minor struggle, shoving the bottom strap down under the swell of her belly. Her legs are splayed open as she leans back against the seat, as if trying to make more room inside her for the baby grow. “This baby is a bully. I blame you.”

Cas chuckles from the front passenger seat, biting his lip to stifle the sound. “Were you expecting an easy pregnancy? You have met Dean, right?”

“Don’t make me kick you in the face,” she says, groaning. “I’m telling you, this baby is a giant. It never stops moving, either. Kill me now.”

“It’ll be over soon,” Cas assures, still beaming, “and then you can get back to drinking and smoking, and eating sushi and all the junk food you want.”

“I just want to sleep on my stomach,” she complains, “or go twenty minutes without peeing. I thought people weren’t supposed to get this big until they popped.”

Her complaint was a bit scary in its accuracy, though Dean would never say so out loud. She’s bigger than Lisa was when Lisa was almost nine months pregnant, but Charlie’s barely halfway through her seventh. He’s never been around enough pregnant women to know what’s normal, doesn’t really remember what it was like when his mother was carrying Sammy, but he figures a big baby must be a healthy one if nothing else.

As huge as the baby must be, though, there’s still enough room in there for worry – they’d only had one other ultrasound, back when Charlie first peed on a stick and two pink lines promised to change their lives forever, but the tech insisted everything looked fine and gave them a due date around the end of September.

There would have been more ultrasounds between then and now, but between switching providers and the new office’s machine breaking down, they’d been forced to wait and build up enough suspense for a Hitchcock horror film.

“You sure don’t wanna know what it is?” Charlie asks, patting the top of her stomach, “might help narrow your ridiculous name list.”

Cas rolls his eyes, a motion that Dean’s a little tired of seeing today. “Yes, we’re sure, and our name list isn’t ridiculous.”

Even Dean has to laugh at that one. “It kind of is, Cas.”

“What’s ridiculous about it?” he whines, giving Dean a sideways glance of betrayal, “other than all the names _you’ve_ picked out, I mean.”

Charlie giggles, unable to stop the outpour of laughter. “Give me a break, Cas. Your names are just as bad. I mean, who names their kid Ares? That doesn’t even sound good with Winchester. Faith is okay, ‘cause of Buffy, but that’s about the only tolerable name on the entire list. Better hope it’s a girl, I guess.”

“What’s wrong with my girl names?” Dean asks, looking back at Charlie over his shoulder. He regrets ever having told her about the damn list in the first place, but at the time he suspected she’d side with him on principle. He wasn’t expecting her eyes to widen in horror, for her to take neither side and throw in some terrible suggestions of her own.

It’s his own fault, he figures. He and Cas probably should have discussed potential names when they first started talking about having a kid together. Maybe if they had known how much they’d fight over it, they would have just adopted a dog or something instead.

Of course, they would have had to pick out a damn name for the dog, too, a process that has proven to be the Achilles heel of their relationship.

“Seriously?” Charlie gapes, turning her gaze out the window to avoid meeting Dean’s glare, “Elizabeth? Bailey is kinda cute, but can’t you do any better than that? Your man’s name is Castiel, for chrissakes.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Elizabeth,” Dean insists, “it comes with a bunch of nicknames! Elle, Liz, Betty - plus it’s practically an American classic.”

A heavy sigh comes from Dean’s right. “I think it’s more English than American, actually.”

“Shut up,” Dean spits, so tired of hearing the same arguments against the names he’s chosen. It’s one thing to have to bicker about the names with Cas, but to turn it into a public debate with Charlie picking on the both of them just feels stupid.

All of the names Cas picked out are simply too strange for Dean’s taste. Ares seemed kinda cool at first, with it being the name of a War God and all, but he knows the novelty of a moniker like that would wear off pretty quickly. Holden is another of Cas’ favorites, but Dean can’t get past the fact that it comes from that awful book, from one of his least favorite literary characters ever.

Even the girl names were a little silly. Who names their kid River?

Dean at least had the decency to pick names the kid could grow up with, a name that it could grow into. Jack is pretty much one of Dean’s favorite names of all time, but the moment he mentioned it to Cas, those blue eyes froze over with something akin to bitter resentment and it took weeks to figure out what the fucking problem was.

Cas remembered that Jack was one of the names Dean wanted for Lisa’s baby, and it hurt him far more than Dean ever intended it to. He didn’t want to hurt Cas at all, he didn’t even think it was that big of a deal, but apparently the name would have served as a constant reminder that the two of them almost didn’t make it, that Dean almost made a white-picket life with someone else.

It means that he’ll never get to use that name, and Dean’s not sure why that bothers him as much as it does.

“We’ll find something we like,” Cas says, the tone of his voice softening as he reaches over and takes Dean’s hand in his own. “Maybe we need to see the baby first, you know? We’ll just see its little face and the right name will come.”

“Hope so,” Dean agrees, letting the touch calm him down.

Behind him, Dean hears a barely audible sniffle. Cas turns to look, and Dean watches as sympathy and concern swallows his husband’s features in a matter of seconds. “What’s wrong?” He asks, keeping his eyes trained on the road. As much as he’d like to look back at Charlie again and make sure she’s okay, he’d rather get them all to their appointment in one piece.

“Your love is disgusting,” she groans, wiping at her face. “Only you two can make a fight so stupidly cute. I hate you both.”

“Aw,” Dean teases, finally pulling into the parking lot, “you’ll get over it.”

҉     ҉     ҉ 

“Another,” Dean mumbles, waving his fingers at Ellen without a single ounce of grace.

He’s always considered time spent at the Roadhouse as a form of intense, narrowly focused therapy. The walls are dark in a way that warms rather than confines, the dim lights are easy on the eyes and the skirts aren’t too bad to look at either. There’s comfort in the familiar, and it’s certainly true that he’s been inside this bar enough times to consider it a home away from home. He grew up in this bar, as much as a tumbleweed can grow up anywhere, and it’s one of the few places he can truly call a respite; that’s what Dean needs right now, just a little suspension from reality so he can let the day sink in.

It doesn’t bother him in the slightest that bad memories come with the territory, too. He’s not thinking about those things, hasn’t in a long time. He and Cas have made some excellent strides with replacing the weathered boards of his mind with new ones and slapping a fresh coat of paint over it. They make better memories to replace the bad ones, give new associations with places Dean used to avoid for reasons he was too ashamed to explain.

He wishes Cas were here with him now, actually. Wouldn’t mind making a beautiful memory to cover up the shitty reasons he’s returned to the bar in the first place.

“No,” Ellen says, dismissing the request, “how ‘bout some coke instead?”

He grumbles, but doesn’t fight it. Didn’t think he was actually going to get more alcohol anyway. “Fine.”

“You, uh…you sure you want me here?” Adam asks, shifting uncomfortably on the stool beside him. Poor kid looks so painfully confused that it’s almost funny. It makes Dean feel bad, though, because he didn’t invite his newly discovered brother out just to get drunk and mope.

“No worries, man. I’d apologize, but I’m kind of a fuck-up by nature. We’re brothers now, so might as well give you the full-immersion experience,” Dean laughs, a little buzzed but not yet drunk. Adam laughs too, thank God, and the weird tension between them slackens enough that Dean feels comfortable giving him a playful nudge. Well, it's either that or that alcohol, but it doesn’t matter. Adam takes it with a smile and orders himself a coke, too.

“So,” Adam starts, sipping on the melted ice at the bottom of his almost-empty glass, “twins.”

The idea of having two babies at once scares the shit out of him, and he’s enough of a grown man that he’s not afraid to admit it. “Yup,” he says, popping his lips on the final letter, “wanna see?”

Adam nods, then gives him the most genuine smile that he’s seen in a long time. It feels refreshing, in a kind of a weird brotherly way. He’s been so hung up on Sam, so entrenched and steeped in Sam’s bullshit that he’ll stink to high heaven of it until he’s dead and gone. Dean didn’t think he’d ever appreciate the fact that John knocked someone up that wasn’t his mother, but sitting here with the product of that unprotected mishap is actually kind of nice.

He reaches into his wallet and pulls out one of the sonograms, handing it to over to Adam. His brother takes it carefully (and fuck, calling him that is going to take some getting used to) and that genuine smile of his widens into a full blown show of excitement.

“Damn,” Adam says, admiring the grainy picture in his hands, “how’d that happen?”

Heh. _How’d that happen_ , he says.

Dean asked the same question, just a little more dumbfounded and with his jaw practically unhinged. He didn’t know it was possible to gape that much, but apparently it is.

Turns out that it’s not too uncommon for twins to be missed during the first ultrasound. The babies were just so tiny then, no bigger than a couple of lentils, made worse by the fact that they were sharing a placenta. Makes sense though, and answers the unspoken questions of why Charlie looked so much bigger than she should have been, why she was barely getting any sleep and constantly in pain. Despite the validation she felt, Charlie couldn’t stop the tears from spilling in the doctor’s office.

Fear, she called it. Afraid of a complicated labor, of growing any bigger than she already is, of being put on a strict diet with more vitamins and protein than she thinks she’ll ever be able to consume. More appointments, more ultrasounds, more risk.

Weirdly enough, Dean’s biggest concern doesn’t have anything to do with Charlie’s health. He’d be worried about her if he didn’t trust her so much, didn’t know what a strong and determined woman she is, but he’s got all the faith in the world that she and the babies will be just fine.

His fears are a bit…lamer than that.

The tech told them that sharing a placenta meant they were identical. How the hell is he going to tell them apart? What if he mixes them up and Baby A becomes Baby B? How’s he supposed to take care of two babies at the same time?

“Just a fluke, I guess. No real cause for it.”

“Cool,” Adam says, handing the picture back, “boys or girls?”

“We don’t know yet. Waiting until the birth,” Dean explains, his own excitement coming back in small pieces. He’ll probably never be fully ready for twins, but it would be a lie to say he’s not eager to find out their gender.

Dean likes to daydream about what each gender could bring, a habit of his that’s been increasing with every day the due date crawls closer, but that’s something he’s been gladly keeping to himself. He’s a little uncertain about what it would be like to raise a girl, since he didn’t have his mother growing up and only had a brother to keep him company, but he thinks he’ll figure it out just fine. Cas had a sister and a mother, so he’ll probably be a lot more useful in that area. Boys, though – Dean’s got plenty of experience with that.

“I don’t think I could wait. I’d be way too curious,” Adam confesses, crunching on his ice.

“Eh, it’s not so bad. Not many surprises left in the world these days, you know?”

“True.”

Dean starts sobering up a bit, not that he was ever anything more than just buzzed, but the clarity brings in a wave of guilt and all the sour feelings he came here with are back, creeping up his spine and slithering under his clothes.

Cas is home alone, probably watching one of his romantic comedies and wishing he never agreed to have kids with such a loser. Dean wouldn’t blame him, not after the fight they had that dragged behind his heels the whole way here. It’s been so long since they’ve had a real argument, one that was more than just bickering about baby names or how to decorate the nursery, that going through the process of actual _anger_ at Cas felt sickening and unnatural.

Having two cribs for two babies is logical. Refusing to use a crib that’s already been built for stupid reasons is illogical. It’s as simple as that.

Lisa isn’t a part of their life. She lives somewhere else with some guy they’ve never met, and their lives haven’t crossed paths a single time since she skipped town in the middle of the night for the second and final time. Dean built that crib for her son, yeah, but it’s a beautiful piece of work he labored over and it’s just been sitting in the garage gathering dust since its completion. A coat of white paint is all it needs to match the rest of the room and the décor, but Cas refused.

It’s just like their dumb argument about the name Jack. Cas claims to be over their horrible separation _years_ ago, way before they were living together, before they married and decided to have a child together. Yes, it was awful. Yes, it sucked for both of them, but sometimes Dean still feels like he’s being punished for something that should have been long buried and forgotten.

But now, regardless of how shitty his day has been, of all the twisted and mixed up feelings he came here to drink away, Dean can’t even bring himself to get drunk or be unhappy about meeting up with Adam. All he wants to do is go home and apologize to the man he loves.

Maybe that’s what everyone means when they tell him how much he’s changed.

“You should come over sometime,” Dean offers, patting Adam on the back. “I got a grill, and plenty of beer.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. We’re family, right?”

҉     ҉     ҉

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Dean breathes, words muffled by the downpour of water against his swollen lips.

Cas has him pressed into the wall of the shower, one hand firmly against the back of his head keeping him pinned to the steam-soaked tile. Dean’s legs ache with how tired they are, but Cas is rocking into him too hard and too quickly for his limbs to catch a break. The slap of skin on skin beneath the scalding water has him feeling raw and used in all the best ways, the sharp pinch of Cas’ fingertips digging into his hips a welcome reminder of how thoroughly fucked out he really is.

He’s already bruised from the first round, when his knees throbbed against the unforgiving tub as Cas fucked his mouth, thumbs hooked over his jaw to keep his mouth open and slack. He loves it when Cas gets wild and possessive, loves feeling all that need and lust bleed from his husband’s usual sense of calm. By the time Cas bent him over and shoved him head-first into the tile, Dean was already covered in a healthy layer of bite marks and bruises, in reddened patches of sensitive skin where blood had been sucked to the surface.

“Shh,” Cas hushes, slowing his pace. Dean didn’t realize how loudly he’d been moaning until the hand on the back of the head moved to cover his mouth.

“Faster,” Dean begs, but the word is lost in the cage of Cas’ fingers, “so close.”

“I know,” Cas teases, and Dean can barely believe his husband heard him at all through the wet noises their bodies are making against each other. “You can do it.”

Christ, it feels so fucking good, so filling and persistent against that sparking place inside him, and now Cas is drawing it out and making the pleasure build slowly. Dean can feel his cock twitching in anticipation; he needs to come so badly that he’s about to rub himself against the tile like a needy little dog – any friction will do, even a single touch – but Cas must sense the desperation because his arm loops around Dean’s waist, keeping him still.

“You can do it, baby,” Cas insists, and Dean’s skin flushes under the praise. He’s practically keening now, whimpering with every thrust that forces him harder against the heated wall.

“More,” he begs, his pride discarded somewhere amongst the clothes tossed on the bathroom floor. Cas complies, not with speed but with depth, pushing as deep as he can possibly go. It hurts at first, pulls a whine from Dean’s throat, but the sharpness subsides and then he’s feeling nothing but incredible fullness, a heavy pressure right where it hits the spot. He comes hard, his legs giving out beneath him, eyes fluttering closed. Cas’ rhythm falters as he finishes deep inside him, gasping to catch his breath, pawing at Dean’s soaked hair as he angles for a kiss.

Later, when they’re curled up in bed, legs tangled and warm, Dean speaks first. “I’m sorry.”

Cas inches closer, draping an arm over Dean’s shoulders. “Me too.”

It’s not nearly as awkward as Dean thought it would be, not uncomfortable in the slightest. It feels good to be home, to know he’s not the only one who regrets the things they were spitting at each other before. “I’ll sell the crib,” Dean offers, then, “I’ll build a new one.”

Cas kisses Dean’s forehead, his breath soft against the hairline as he sighs. “No, you don’t have to.”

“I will,” Dean promises, and that’s the end of it. Cas shouldn’t have to defend his reasoning, truth be told. If it hurts him, if it feels like salt against old wounds, Dean’s not going to push the issue anymore.

“I realized something,” Cas says, and Dean can feel the subtle smile behind the words, “now that we’re having twins, that means we don’t have to argue about names anymore. We can each pick a name, and that settles it.”

Strangely enough, Dean hadn’t thought of it that way. He likes the idea of getting to pick out whatever name he wants without having to worry about Cas’ opinion of it, but that joy is outweighed by the fear of hating whatever name his husband picks out for the other.

“I still don’t like Holden,” he groans.

“And I still don’t like Jack.”

Even the promise of two children can’t seem to get them through their petty impasse.

They’ll figure it out.

҉     ҉     ҉

The phone rings.

Twice.

Dean reaches out blindly in the dark, hand fumbling over the bright, vibrating cell. A familiar name flashes across the screen: Sam.

He could answer it, could tell his brother all the reasons why he can't stay in the guest room anymore, but it won't do any good. His brother isn't rational anymore, won't take the rejection well. And, if he's being perfectly honest, Cas has a point. Everyone must deal with the consequences of their actions, and now it's Sam's turn. 

Dean turns the phone on silent and goes back to sleep. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The knock on the door was soft, so gentle that it sounded more like the clicking of bird claws against concrete. 

Dean ignored it the first time, focusing instead on the curves of the wood he’s sanding to a smooth finish. When the knock happens a second time, barely louder than the first, he sets the sandpaper and his unfinished project down on the table and checks the clock. 

It’s a little after ten. Pretty late at night for casual company. 

He ignores the threat of panic swelling in his chest and walks a little too slowly toward the door. Bad news can wait. Especially if it’s bad news about Sam. 

Through the peep hole, a short, feminine figure stands distorted on the other side of the door. Her hair is pink and she’s wearing what looks like a long white skirt. Not the police then, Dean sighs. Not Bobby or Jody coming to snip the guillotine rope. 

He swings open the door and meets her eyes with an expectant stare. “Yes?”

The girl is shorter than she appeared through the peep hole, and Dean can’t help but compare her features to that of an anime doll. 

“Hello,” she says, and Dean notices her nervous fingers are threading together in front of her. “I’m looking for Sam.”

Though he tries not to show it, Dean’s muscles tense and bunch beneath his skin. His teeth clench together and his lips curl up in a parody of a smile. “You got the wrong house, darlin’.”

“But,” she pauses, looking down at her threaded fingers which Dean now sees are covered in ink; his address written in black, curly penmanship. “The lady at the bar said I could find him here.”

Dean leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Which lady?”

“Uh…the…blonde one?” She tries as if there’s a wrong answer. 

“Jo?”

“Maybe?” The girl’s face turns down in embarrassment, cheeks blushing pink to match her hair. “I don’t remember. I’ve only been there a few times and she doesn’t wear a nametag.”

Dean nods in understanding, knowing he can’t exactly blame the girl standing in front of him. Small town like this, nametags are an unnecessary trinket most people don’t bother to use, and by the looks of her she’s not from around here. She could be a college student, maybe, or a tumbleweed blowing through the flat terrains of Kansas. 

Then curiosity hits him swift in the gut and he asks, “What do you want with Sam?”

She doesn’t quite look like a drug addict: could be a supplier who doesn’t touch the stuff herself, but there’s no real way to tell these days. Addicts are clever and come in all types of packages. 

“I – um, it’s personal,” she stutters, kicking the toe of her cowboy boot into the ground.

“He owe you somethin’?” Dean guesses, tone sharpening in accusation. “What are you selling?”

Even after dealing with Sam all this time, Dean still doesn’t understand much about the drug world or how one even goes about discussing them. He’s sure he sounds like an idiot but he doesn’t care. Sam might be beyond help these days but Dean will still walk through fire for the kid. 

“What?” She sounds genuinely confused as she takes a step back, a hint of fear in her stance. “No, I – please, I just need to talk to him.”

There’s a very good chance Dean is going to regret this, but he says, “Come on in.”

Something within the girl resolves, hiding the fear on her face as she straightens her skirt and follows Dean inside. 

“What’s your name?” Dean finally asks, feeling a little guilty for not asking her sooner. 

She seems hesitant, following him awkwardly into the living room. “Sunshine.”

He stops in his tracks. She scowls. 

“Sunshine?” He clarifies, trying not to laugh. The look on her face tells him the humor isn’t appreciated. 

“My mother was a hippie,” she explains with practiced ease, “But the rest of my name is painfully boring, I assure you.”

“What is the rest of your name?”

She sighs, looking around the room in expectation. “Is Sam here?”

Dean plops down on the couch, making a gesture that Sunshine should follow him and sit down as well. In truth, he’s not really sure what he’s doing. No one has come looking for Sam before, and Dean’s never had to deal with this part of Sam’s life like this. Not that he’s sure he knows what part he’s dealing with, specifically. 

There’s dealing with Sam, and then there’s dealing with the ripples Sam leaves in his wake. Neither is particularly pleasant and no one’s willing to help him with it anymore. 

So really, Dean’s the only person standing between this coral-haired mystery girl and his brother, and he has every right to be suspicious. 

“No, but I know where he is,” Dean answers, motioning again for her to sit on the couch and relax. She gives him an examining look as if sizing him up, like she thinks she might actually be able to take Dean in a fight, and then sits on the furthest end right up against the arm rest. 

“So where is he?”

Dean thinks of Cas sleeping upstairs, feeling awkward for having brought a complete stranger inside when he says, “I can take you to him, but first you gotta tell me what this is about. Sam’s on the road to recovery and he doesn’t need any extra speed bumps, got it?”

Sunshine’s eyes narrow in confusion, then become more resolute as she sits up straighter. “What is he recovering from?”

He looks at the woman beside him more closely; more girl than woman, really, trying to look taller and stronger than she is. He doesn’t know what to make of her, but she’s a bit of a contradiction in Dean’s mind and curiosity has the best of him. He wants to figure her out. 

Her hair is longer than it looked through the peep hole, tied but draping down the length of her back to her waist. Though the color is bright and vibrant, the rest of her is rather unexceptional in comparison. Brown eyes, nose a little wide for her face, and breasts that are unimpressively flat. 

Not that he was checking out her tits or anything. 

“You don’t know Sam very well, do you?” Dean says, understanding that he’s in the unique position of knowing more about Sam than this stranger. He’s usually on the other side of things, trying to figure out what the hell his brother is up to through a myriad of bizarre and unreliable sources. 

She shakes her head. “We’ve spent some time together, but not much,” she admits. “But I really need to talk to him, so…”

“Look,” Dean interrupts, shaking his head. “I don’t know anything about you, okay? Sam’s in kind of a delicate state and I don’t want anything fucking up his progress.”

“I’m still not sure I understand,” Sunshine admits. 

“Are you a drug dealer or something? You look like you’re about twelve years old but I still gotta ask.”

Her mouth pops open at the suggestion, revulsion taking over her features as if Dean’s slapped her silly. 

“Do I look like a drug dealer to you?” She hisses.

“Not like I keep a mental database of what drug dealers look like, lady,” Dean says, getting impatient. If they get any louder than Cas will wake up and Dean’s not interested in getting in trouble. “Just answer the question.”

“No!” She insists, water springing to her eyes in a way that makes Dean feel pretty awful. 

He hates to ask, “No, you’re not a drug dealer? Or no, you’re not going to answer the question?”

“I’m not a drug dealer,” she growls, and Dean’s about to apologize for making her cry when her hands curl over her stomach. “Oh God.”

“You okay?”

“Oh, oh God,” she says again, and now Dean really has no idea what to do. “He’s a drug dealer, isn’t he? Like Scarface.”

For a moment, Dean doesn’t know whether to commend her for the awesome movie reference or laugh at the fact that she really has no idea who Sam Winchester is. 

He watches as she goes into a mild panic, swallowing it back down with a strength of pure will that Dean envies before she stands up and shakes her head. “I’m going to be sick,” she announces, voice neutral, then strides into the kitchen without waiting for Dean to escort her. 

He doesn’t follow her until he hears the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting into the sink. 

She’s hunched over the sink with the faucet running low, puking up the contents of her dinner. Dean’s glad she chose the side with the disposal, at least, but he just stands there gawkily twiddling his thumbs like a jackass because he doesn’t know what to do, what to say. 

Sunshine finishes after a few minutes, splashing some of the cool water from the faucet on her face, rinsing everything down the drain. She pulls a paper towel from the roll and dabs at her lips before turning around. 

“Sorry,” she says. 

Dean shrugs his shoulders. Is it impolite to pretend like that never happened? “How do you know Sam, exactly?”

She throws the damp paper towel in the trash and straightens her blouse. “I met him a few times at the bar. He can be very persuasive.”

Dean definitely doesn’t want to hear more about that. “He’s not like Scarface, by the way. He’s been trying to sober up for a while.”

“I see.”

“You, uh –” Dean tries to figure out how to rephrase his question in a way that is less offensive, but can’t do it. “Sorry if this is blunt, but it’s kind of weird to track a guy down you barely know. I mean, um, if he didn’t give you his phone number or address, and you didn’t even know he’s an addict –” because, come on, that part should have been obvious – “then what are you trying to find him for?” He gives her the most sympathetic look he can muster, because it’s hard to be mad a vulnerable looking girl who just threw up. “At this time of night, no less.”

The green in her gills is fading slightly to make way for that hint of red she was wearing earlier. Her hands fall just below her waist, palms flattening to hold her stomach, almost cradling it. 

And then Dean knows. He looks just past her at the sink, thinks of the vomit, and then returns his dumbfounded stare to the Hippie’s daughter standing in front of him. 

“Oh,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Sunshine’s eyes drop to the ground in shame. 

“How far along are you?” Dean asks, surprised at the softness of his tone. 

“Doctor says about eight weeks.”

Ah, so she’s seen a doctor then, already confirmed the life growing inside her. The life that is half Winchester, half Sam, half Dean’s own flesh and blood. 

A part of Dean wants to panic, wants to run into the other room and breathe repeatedly into a brown paper bag, but that part of him has been mostly mastered through years of practice. This is pushing his limits, though, so he takes a moment to count to ten and breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. In through his nose, out through his mouth. 

In through his nose – 

“It’s Sam’s, right?” Dean blurts, unable to keep his cool. He doesn’t want to outright accuse this girl of sleeping around, but this kind of news could completely derail Sam’s progress and he’s not willing to risk that just because little miss Sunshine here wants a baby daddy. 

Surprisingly, she doesn’t seem that offended. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Dean wheedles, tilting his head the way Cas does when he’s feeling investigatory. “Like, completely sure?”

“Yes,” she repeats, though this time it sounded more like a grunt. “Without a doubt.”

“Okay, but when you say without a doubt, does that mean like, ninety-nine percent sure?”

Sunshine turns bright red but keeps her eyes aligned with Dean’s. “He was my first.”

“First what?” It’s Cas, groggily coming into the room and rubbing at his eyes. He doesn’t question the fact that there’s a pink-haired stranger standing with Dean in the kitchen. 

Dean wipes at his face for a second before answering. “Apparently Sam forgot his manners and got a girl pregnant while simultaneously taking her virginity.”

He’s too flustered to feel bad for embarrassing the poor girl, but he’s nothing if not concise. 

“Hmm,” Cas pauses, looking at the girl and then back at Dean. He places his hands on the counter and stretches his neck. “That does seem rather impolite.”

“Can you tell me where Sam is now?” Sunshine pleads, reaching the precipice of her own limits. Her eyes are watery with the threat of tears.

Cas stops his stretching and gives her a concerned look, the one he should have had on his face when he first came down the stairs. “You don’t know where he is?” He asks, watching her shake her head. “Let me guess, you told him the news and he ran?”

Dean huffs. “He doesn’t know yet. She’s trying to find him so she can tell him.” He gives Cas a moment to play catch-up before he adds, “I just don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Sunshine scowls, affronted. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Cas and Dean exchange a knowing glance, neither quite willing to speak up and explain. 

“Well?” She chirps, almost shrill and bird-like. 

Mercifully, Cas takes the lead. He starts a pot of coffee, knowing this will turn out to be another long night thanks to his deductive reasoning skills, and offers Sunshine a seat at the table. She refuses, of course, tired of being directed around their house like an errant child. 

The coffee pot groans and spits in the background. Dean makes a mental note that it needs replaced when Cas says, “What’s your name?”

“Sunshine.” She looks away when she says it. 

Cas doesn’t comment on the strangeness of her name, but then again the guy’s name is Castiel so he can probably relate. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.”

Cas nods as if that’s an acceptable answer. “I think what Dean is trying to say, is that this news could be upsetting for Sam to hear. It’s very possible that it could cause him to relapse, assuming he hasn’t already,” Cas explains, voice soothing and calm. He looks to Dean for reassurance. “Right?”

“Right.” Dean echoes. 

“May I ask if you’re planning on keeping it?” Cas continues. He has such a mollifying quality to his tone that he can make anything sound sweet and sincere. 

It falls only slightly short of its purpose when Sunshine’s brows knit together in confusion. “Of course,” she says, hesitant. “Abortion is murder.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Cas elbows him. 

“And do you intend to raise it, or give it up for adoption?”

“What is with all the questions?” She snaps, and Dean wonders briefly if it’s a symptom of the pregnancy hormones. He remembers what Charlie was like at this stage. “Yes, I’m raising it. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“My apologies,” Cas says, lifting his hands in a peaceful gesture. “We’ll take you to him. Give me a moment to get dressed.”

“Hey, wait,” Dean tugs at the drawstrings on Cas’ sweats when he tries to walk away. “I don’t know about this, man.”

Cas, being the patient saint that he is, kisses Dean on the forehead with a smile and pats his shoulder. “It’s not our life, Dean. Sam is an adult, and it sounds like he’s going to be father. It’s up to him to decide what to do with that.”

“But,” Dean growls, not letting go of the drawstrings, “he’s been sober for weeks, dammit. This is the longest he’s been sober for like, a year.”

It’s Sunshine’s turn to growl, and though she’s petite with bird-like features, Dean has to admit that he’s a little intimidated by the way she approaches him. “Have you considered the possibility that this might encourage him to stay clean?” 

She’s glaring at Dean in a way that makes him feel like he’s wearing a dunce cap. 

“That only happens in Hollywood, sweetheart,” Dean says. It’s not his fault he gets defensive when girls are scary. 

Cas sighs and takes the opportunity to excuse himself, leaving Dean and Sunshine together in the kitchen to frown at each other. 

Dean’s been looking at Sunshine long enough now to notice the rest of her, but he still isn’t able to fit the pieces together in a way that makes sense. Aside from being the pink-haired daughter of a Hippie, she’s somehow religious; willing to raise the child of a man she barely knows out of fear or duty to a God that regards the alternatives as murder. Or maybe she’s using it as an excuse to keep a baby she secretly wants, that she went to the bar as a baited hook until she caught her fish. 

Jesus, even the way the girl dresses is anomalous. Her face is as unnatural as her hair; heavily painted with glossy lips and inky lines around her eyes. Her nails are sparkly black and almost match her dainty cowboy boots. 

Sam must have been high as hell to hook up with this chick. Damn fool didn’t even use protection. 

Dean wonders what Sam was doing eight weeks ago at the Roadhouse. He can’t remember the specifics, but he does recall his brother asking for a place to stay. Sam had sworn his sobriety then, but it was a lie. It was a lie and Cas said no anyway, but Dean never followed up with his brother to figure out what happened to him. Not until a few weeks ago when Sam got a place with his buddy and Dean helped him through another round of withdrawals. 

Dammit. Why didn’t Ellen tell him that Sam was there? She should have mentioned that his brother was hooking up with Fashion Confused Barbie. 

Maybe Sam was just trying to keep a roof over his head and went home with whoever would have him. 

Dean squints at Sunshine, trying to see her through the scenarios he’s created in his head. 

“You’re not just trying to get child support out of him, are you?” He asks, watching her face to gauge her reaction. Sam doesn’t have the kind of money it takes to raise a child, let alone two nickels to rub together. 

Now she’s the one rolling her eyes. “Shut up.”

Understood. 

They wait in awkward silence for Cas to finish. Dean’s ready to send in a search party by the time Cas finally comes out, barely more dressed than he already was. The only improvement is that now he has a shirt on. In retrospect, Dean should have been more aware that Cas was shirtless in front of a strange girl, should have been irked or jealous or something, but it had been hard to focus on anything other than their unexpected guest. 

He tries not to think about why he’s been so irrationally possessive these days. 

Actually, since the topic is on his mind now, Dean asks, “You sure you wanna go, Cas? I’ll probably survive the trip on my own.”

Cas looks a little uncertain as he takes a deep breath. “I’d prefer it if we didn’t separate. Charlie could call at any time.”

Ah, yeah, makes sense. Dean scratches at the back of his head in defeat, following Cas and Sunshine outside. If Charlie goes into labor, Cas wants them all to be together at the hospital, and that kind of thing tends to trump old wounds and reservations. 

But Dean’s skin is starting to crawl with the knowledge that Sam and Cas might end up in the same room again. His stomach flips and protests. Even his feet are dragging and scraping across the driveway as they make it out to the Impala. 

It’s the only car in front of the house, actually. It takes a moment for Dean to realize how odd that is. 

“Did you drive here?” Dean asks, giving Sunshine a curious look. 

She frowns. “I thought Sam was going to be here,” she says. It doesn’t explain much, so Dean keeps staring at her until she continues. “I got a ride from a friend and I figured Sam would drive me back or, uh…let me stay.”

Cas gives a smile that isn’t particularly genuine. Dean just shrugs and motions for her to get in the back seat. 

Sunshine doesn’t look too excited about getting in a car with unfamiliar men, but it doesn’t stop her from buckling in and leaning her head back against the seat. Dean wants to say something reassuring like how they’re not going to drive out to the middle of nowhere and chop her into tiny pieces, but he doesn’t think that sentiment will be appreciated much. 

And really, she’s probably safer with him and Cas than she will be with Sam and his weird friend. 

The drive is dark and quiet, almost soothing from the way the headlights punch into the road ahead and bring back memories of long nights on the road. Those thoughts used to make him uneasy, a little sick, but he’s got a couple of great roadtrips with Cas under his belt that have changed the way Dean looks at those things. 

It’s almost like old times; Cas to his right, a moonlit road in front, and nothing but freedom but between them. 

He kind of wants to drape his arm over the back of Cas’ seat, but he doesn’t. Dean’s still not that great with public displays of affection and he’s not all that comfortable with their audience. 

He thinks about warning her: Sam could be high, could be passed out cold on the floor with a needle stuck in his arm for all they know. Sure, Sam’s been sober for a good stretch, but Dean would be lying if he said Sam is sober right now for certain. 

Addicts have that way of being inconsistent, unreliable. Better not to have any expectations. 

Sunshine doesn’t say anything until they pull up in front of the blue double wide. “Oh.”

Cas gives Dean a pointed look, but he’s not interested in trying to decipher whatever unspoken insult Cas is trying to convey. “Yeah, uh…I mean we can take you home if you want. I’m not exactly on the Tell Sammy Train anyway.”

Sunshine’s got that determined glint in her eye that Dean knows he won’t be able to snuff away. She just shakes her head and Dean accepts that, a little in awe of the brass balls that must hang between her legs. He can’t guarantee he’d do the same thing in her shoes. 

“This way,” Cas says, circling the car and heading toward the front door. The yard is thankfully neat, no trash or broken appliances hanging about like there was the first time Dean had been here. 

Dean catches up to Cas before he knocks, whispering low in his ear. “You can stay in the car if you want.” He’s too chicken-shit to add that he’d prefer it that way, to beg Cas to please just stay outside. There’s a lot of things Dean’s capable of, but he doesn’t know if seeing Sam and Cas in the same room again is one of them. 

The last time that happened, it really sucked. 

Cas sighs. “It’ll be fine, Dean. I want to see how this plays out,” He says with a smirk, knocking before Dean can stop him. “Besides, weren’t you the one asking if your brother could stay with us? Didn’t seem to bother you then.”

It’s a point well made that Dean can’t argue with, unfortunately. At the time, it seemed like the lesser of two evils having Sammy stay in their home despite the hostile sense of betrayal that would come with it. 

Besides, it’s actually happening now. Like, right the fuck now and not some vague time frame in the future. That makes a big difference, no matter how irrational Cas might make it out to be. 

Dean can only glare in response, but the smirk never leaves Cas’ face. 

Here goes nothing. 

Zeke answers the door, fully dressed with his hoodie pulled up over his head. He gives Dean a cordial nod but can’t hide the surprise on his face when his eyes land on Cas. Zeke doesn’t know any of them that well, but he knows enough to find it strange that Dean isn’t showing up alone and unhelped. 

“Hello…everyone,” Zeke says, taking a step back to let them all inside. “Sam’s in his room.”

“Thanks.” Dean appreciates that the guy is a little stand-offish, that he doesn’t meddle into their business, but why is Dean the only one who seems stupidly shocked that there’s a Rainbow Brite character with them?

The inside of the trailer is pretty nice, definitely spruced up since the last time Dean was here, too. It’s good to see that Sam and his equally tall roommate aren’t living like farm animals anymore, but Dean can’t stop the suspicion that creeps up and nestles in the back of his brain. He can’t take anything from Sam without some kind of grain of salt. 

Zeke goes back to the couch, plops down and picks up his controller. 

They try not to interrupt the guy’s game when they walk in front of the screen, but it’s as inevitable as the impending doom waiting on the other side of Sam’s door in a place this small. Zeke doesn’t seem to mind though; he’s probably used to craning his neck around Sam’s enormous frame in this matchbox of a house. 

The door is cracked open, but Dean knocks once anyway and says, “Sammy?”

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is small, almost child-like in that humbled way he used to talk sometimes. It gives Dean a flimsy beat of hope. He goes to push open the door but Sam cries, “Just a minute, man. I’m getting dressed. Heading out soon.”

Cas lifts an eyebrow, giving Dean a worried glance. Sunshine pales and bites her lip. 

“Uh, it’s a little late for going out, don’t you think?” Dean tries to sound amicable about it, but there’s no scenario in his head that ends well with this situation. Not many good reasons to go out this late at night, not for Sam. 

“I got a thing,” Sam says vaguely, sounding somewhat nervous about it. 

Dean doesn’t like the way that sends chills up his spine or how it makes him want to punch something, so instead he pushes open the door without regard for his brother’s potential nudity in a stupid attempt to catch his brother in the act – of whatever it is he might be doing. 

“Hey!” Sam bitches, tugging on a plaid button-up over his black t-shirt. His hair is wet like he just came from the shower and it smells a tiny bit like cologne. 

Sam opens his giant, annoying fish mouth to say more, but stops when he sees Cas and Sunshine standing in the doorway beside Dean. 

Sam’s room is clean too, dammit. Something weird is going on here and Dean doesn’t like it. 

But there are no drugs laying out that Dean can see, no empty bottles or even a winkled cigarette snuffed out in an ash tray. The room isn’t just clean, it’s organized: detailed to fit Sam’s tastes. It’s almost like Sam’s half of the room they shared back before he ditched them for Stanford. 

Hell, Sam’s even filled out a little bit in the last few weeks. He’s put on some weight and his skin is a little gold from the sun. 

Dean would be happy enough to jump and click his heels for joy if Sam’s shock and discomfort wasn’t so painfully grounding. 

Actually, Sam is staring more at Cas than he is at Sunshine, and that’s grounding enough that Dean can feel the dirt packed tight around his rib cage. 

“So, uh, we brought someone to see you,” Dean says, redirecting Sam’s attention to the brightly colored girl waiting to be noticed. “You should probably stay home tonight.”

“I can’t,” Sam insists, but now he’s taking in Sunshine’s appearance as though he’s seeing her for the first time. His eyes bug out of his skull as he drags a hand across his chest, smoothing out the shirt. 

“Sure you can,” Dean pushes, taking another step into his brother’s bedroom. “Besides, don’t want to be rude to your guests, do you? Sunshine here has something to tell you.”

When he nudges the girl forward, Dean feels a little bad for putting her out there like that, for shoving her into the spotlight and not giving her the option of backing out. He’d feel worse if it wasn’t for the fact that Sam is more important and Dean’s not afraid to use people as collateral damage if it means keeping his brother safe and drug free. 

Okay, so maybe that’s not entirely true, but protecting Sam is still written in his DNA and he’s not going to apologize for that. It’s Sunshine’s fault, anyway. She’s the one who wanted to come here. 

Sam swallows audibly as he finishes taking in her appearance. “You look different,” he says, master of the obvious. “I like the pink.”

Sunshine offers a nervous laugh, trying to hide pebbles on her skin. “I don’t know, I kind of miss the purple.”

Dean doesn’t miss the way Sam keeps darting his eyes at Cas, assessing and careful. 

“So where are you headed this late, kid?” Dean asks, trying not to sound accusatory. He’s still irritated that he was disturbed so late at night for this shit, and he can’t wait to see the look on his brother’s face when Sunshine announces her questionable news. But Dean has those horse blinders on that stop him from seeing anything other than Sam and all the bad things he could be doing. 

Sam turns away from Sunshine, ashamed. His shoulders slump. “Meeting up with my sponsor.”

Dean makes a point of cleaning out his ears. “Your what?”

“My sponsor,” Sam repeats. 

Bull-fucking-shit Sam has a sponsor. “This late at night, Sammy? Give me a fucking break.”

Sam reaches into one of his drawers and grabs a white beanie, tugging it over his wet hair. “He says it’s best to meet up during times I used to, uh, you know,” he says, pleading Dean with his eyes in the hopes he won’t have to completely explain it. “Or whenever I’m feeling like…doing it.”

His eyes don’t leave Dean’s face, still pleading with him to drop the subject and leave it alone. Dean’s not sure if it’s because Sunshine is here or if it has something to do with Cas still standing in the doorway, arms folded and unsympathetic. 

It’s actually a good idea, now that Dean thinks about it. He can’t know for sure if Sam is telling the truth but he really hopes his brother is being honest about this. Meeting up with a sponsor at night could be good way to keep him from slipping. 

Shit, did they tell Sunshine what kind of addict Sam is? Dean can’t remember. She doesn’t look that freaked out right now, though. She’s kind of doe-eyed and moony as she stares up at Sam with a dopey, hopeful grin. 

The smile he gives her in response doesn’t quite match. It’s more guarded, nervous and confused; not something Dean would classify as happy. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Sunshine says, and her voice sounds different. Not by much, but it’s softer and slightly higher, like she’s trying to make herself more feminine. “I just got off work and I was trying to find you. I was hoping we could talk.”

Sam nods, but doesn’t completely meet her eyes. 

This is way more awkward than Dean thought it was going to be. He suddenly doesn’t want to be here for this. 

Sam’s so damn calm and collected, way more put together than Dean expected him to be, and Dean had prepared himself for more of a fallout. He didn’t think Sam would look so grown up and rational in his clean clothes and newly found muscles, didn’t think Sam could have a conversation like this so neutrally. There was very little expectation on Dean’s end that Sunshine would actually have the chance to tell Sam her big news. 

“We’ll wait in the car,” Dean offers, feeling like he’s intruding. Cas gives him the barest of glares as though he’s being robbed, but doesn’t complain out loud. 

Something unrecognizable flickers across Sam’s face, maybe a mix between relief and horror and nausea as Dean turns and pats Sunshine on the back. She looks just as horrified as Sam, wide manga eyes silently pleading him to stay, but he can’t. His skin crawls with how intensely personal the situation has become and how suffocatingly small Sam’s room has shrunken down to. 

Dean tries to say goodbye, but the mission aborts halfway out of his mouth and instead comes out as a weird, garbled noise. Rather than explain, he just says, “Uh, yep,” and pushes Cas gently out of the doorway and down the hall. 

The door closes behind them, and Dean thinks for a second that maybe Sunshine will turn out to be the one doing the chopping and murdering. 

But Cas is practically storming out into the living room where Zeke sits expressionless, still playing his game. Come to think of it, the guy looks a little stoned – Dean scans the room on automatic like he’s grown used to, searching for a sign of drugs, but there’s not even the skunky smell of pot to keep his suspicion aroused. 

“Later,” Zeke says, equally monotone. It kind of gives Dean the creeps. 

Cas says nothing as they walk out to the car, but he’s grateful for the wealth of silence. He selfishly wants to hear any yelling or screaming that might happen – he’s a concerned brother, not a nosey eavesdropper – though he’s a bit clueless about what to do if he actually hears something. 

Zeke seems like a pretty big, formidable guy. Sam’s not exactly the mousy runt he was in school, either. 

Ironically, the deadliest of them is also the shortest, currently pouting as he climbs into the passenger seat and frowns. Cas has certainly looked angrier, but Dean still hasn’t forgotten what it feels like to be on the receiving end of Cas’ wrath. Angry Cas is a scary Cas no matter what. 

“Sorry,” Dean offers, getting in behind the wheel. He shouldn’t be apologizing when he doesn’t know exactly what he should be apologizing for, but he still feels repentant. He doesn’t like seeing Cas this way: smug and angry and spiteful. 

Cas leans his head back against the window and shrugs. 

“It just, uh, felt super weird? I guess I didn’t want to hear what Sunshine had to say a second time, either.”

“It’s alright,” Cas says, but Dean isn’t convinced. The worst of the irritation has left Cas’ features but he’s still unhappy, scraping a thumbnail over his chin and staring through the window at the trailer. 

In a final tactical move, Dean bats his eyelashes and rests his head on Cas’ shoulder. That usually does the trick. “Love you.”

Cas laughs and shakes his head. “You only want me for my body.”

“Not gonna lie, babe. Your body is a pretty big selling point.”

Cas laughs again, loosening up and looking elsewhere out the window. They’re both exhausted, trying to survive the final weeks of Charlie’s pregnancy without going crazy or bickering over baby names, but the purple pools beneath Cas’ eyes look deeper than usual. Dean watches him for a minute, taking in his features and trying to guess at the reasons he’d be so tired. 

Dean can’t help but think it has something to do with the way Sam couldn’t stop staring at him, or why Cas is so damn excited to watch Sam fail. 

“You think we’ll ever be, uh…” Dean trails off, struggling to find the right words but failing. He huffs in frustration, pushing the memories of his brother and husband out of his head, and grumbles. 

Cas waits for him to finish, but impatiently adds, “Pterodactyls? It’s unlikely, but modern science has come a long way in the last fifty years or so. The real trick would be figuring out how humans can lay those leathery eggs for reproduction.”

“Shut up,” Dean whines, but can’t stop the small smile from spreading on his face. “Would be pretty cool, though.”

“What, laying eggs?”

“Having wings, dumbass.” Dean shifts in his seat, staring back at the mobile home in obvious anticipation. Cas runs a calming hand through Dean’s hair. 

“I thought you didn’t like to fly,” Cas says, adding more pressure to the back of Dean’s head in a gesture that almost feels like a massage. 

Dean wants to purr with how good it feels. “I don’t, but can you imagine how easy it would be to slap someone? I could be like ten feet away and still give Sammy the back of my hand when he’s being stupid.”

He laughs at his own joke, but Cas stays quiet and thoughtful as his hand moves a little lower to Dean’s shoulder, gently working the muscle there in circular, soothing motions. 

It’s quiet for a while then. They both watch the door in expectation, but the longer they sit there waiting the more Dean starts to wonder about what’s going on inside. They could be doing anything, really: talking, fighting, fucking like overgrown rabbits, and of course the unlikely but still possible scenario in which they’re planning their futures together and setting up a college savings account for the little one online. 

The hand on Dean’s shoulder stills. “Tell me,” Cas says when Dean looks over and meets his eyes. 

“What?”

“What you were going to say.”

“Oh,” Dean breathes, shrugging and looking away again. He shouldn’t be so nervous to ask a simple question.

There’s still no sign of life coming from inside Sam’s place, so Dean allows himself to get lost in a quick daydream before answering. 

They’re going to be parents, all three of them – assuming Sam steps up and takes his rightful place as a father in that baby’s life. Being a parent is one thing, but being an uncle? Having cousins for his kids to play with, to grow up together and have that big family experience Dean always wanted seems so beautifully surreal. Cas has siblings out there somewhere, but Dean’s never met them and Cas hasn’t mentioned them more than what it took to explain they exist. Bobby will be the closest thing the twins have to a grandparent, and just yesterday Dean would have been grateful if they had Sam as an active uncle in their lives. 

But now Dean sees that hope branching out into deeper wants and dreams, and it hurts that he can’t give his children everything. They should have the moon and the stars and a sober uncle who loves them and calls them by familiar nicknames. There’s Adam, but that image doesn’t do much to heal the wound in Dean’s heart. It’s just not the same. 

Even if Sam doesn’t man up and do what’s right, maybe Dean can convince Sunshine to let the baby be in their lives. 

“You think we’ll ever be friends?” Dean finally says, unable to look at Cas when he asks. “Do you think there will ever be a time when Sam comes over for a beer and we’ll all laugh at how awful these years were?”

Without looking at Cas’ face, it’s hard to know exactly what he’s thinking or what he’s going to say. A part of him doesn’t really want to hear Cas’ answer, anyway. 

Cas’ hand starts moving again, and Dean thinks he’s about to say something as he sighs, but then Cas’ phone rings and cuts through the tense, depressing mood filling the car. 

Sam steps outside when Cas answers.

Dean watches his brother close the door and sink on the steps, eyes wet with unshed tears as his body curls forward. Sam sits there, staring out into nothing with the bleakest, most hollowed out expression Dean’s ever seen on his little brother’s face, and it breaks his heart. 

Then Sam buries his face in his hands and starts to cry. 

Instinct has Dean’s hand on the handle before he realizes it, and everything inside him is screaming in a relentless, high pitched noise. He wants to shield his brother from the falling sky and beg him not to relapse, beg him to wait for the dust and the rubble to settle before he makes any major, irreversible decisions. 

But the hand on his shoulder isn’t just calming him anymore, it’s keeping him in place. Dean tries to climb out of the car but Cas holds him back, fingers gripping painfully into his flesh through the thin barrier of his shirt. 

“Dean,” Cas says, but he sounds a million miles away. “Dean!”

“What?” He snaps, trying to jerk out of Cas’ hold. Sam is right there, so close to running or slipping through his fingers, and Dean’s desperate need to keep his brother close and safe feels sharp and throbbing in his chest. 

“That was Charlie,” Cas explains, pulling on Dean’s arm. “She’s gone into labor.”

Dean freezes in place long enough to let that information settle. 

Sam is still cradling his face when Sunshine appears in the doorway, swathing herself over Sam’s back like an apology. 

Dean wants so badly to go to his brother, but Cas is right. Sam’s a grown man as much as Dean refuses to admit it. Sam’s an adult with a sponsor and an unplanned baby on the way. 

And Dean’s about to be a father.

“Buckle up,” he says, doing the same. He’ll call Sam later. 

Dean starts his Baby, puts her in gear and drives.


End file.
